


Something Else

by kuiske



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Nudity, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8264615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuiske/pseuds/kuiske
Summary: Black and gold for the King.Maker but he was tempted. 
(A continuation to If You Will Have Me)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the fics I started to write for Dworin week in July, but my brain wasn't co-operating, so you get it in October. The prompt was _jokes_ (which you'll get in chapter 2).

A piece of raw onyx for sale for a price he could afford gave Dwalin a pause.

It had been almost half a year, and he still hadn’t decided on a return-gift for Thorin. His one excuse was that very few trade caravans made their way up north to the Blue Mountains in winter, and fewer still with wares that weren’t food or furs, and virtually none that weren’t too expensive for him by half. It’s not like there was any kind of a hurry either, there’d be no point spending money he didn’t have on that account. He and Thorin had been together for long enough that formally exchanging gifts as a sign that they wished to call each other their One for all their kind to see was... well, a mere formality by now. In fact he was willing to wager that most dwarves in Ered Luin would be surprised to hear they hadn’t already gotten it out of the way decades ago, since they famously had no intentions of marrying each other. (Dwalin might have voiced his opinions regarding the title and duties of the Prince Consort very vocally and in detail a couple of times in the pub. Thus it was fairly widely known that he’d rather serve as Thorin’s footstool than as his diplomatic second-in-command. He was sure the odd Broadbeam and Firebeard noble who actually knew him were duly grateful.)

Nevertheless, the gift was a very _important_ formality, especially since Thorin valued symbolic gestures _far_ more than he ever cared to admit.

The piece of onyx was small but of very fine quality. There were similar gems that were bigger and of different colours, many with white veins running through the stone, but the one that had caught his eye was black as the dead of night all the way through. Wrong shape for a ring unless he wanted to waste half of the stone, but split and polished it would make for a nice pair of ear studs. And Dwalin was cautiously positive he would be able to afford the tiny bit of metal required to set the onyx in gold.

Black and gold for the King.

_Maker_ but he was tempted. 

Dwalin could just go ahead with it. He could give Thorin something in the royal colours he had the right to wear by blood alone, and which he had earned the right for by deed a hundred times over again. There was no way Thorin wasn’t going to accept his gift. He _couldn’t_ refuse it, not without rejecting Dwalin’s acceptance to his proposal along with it, and he figured he knew Thorin well enough to know he’d rather swallow shards of broken glass than do that. But he also knew Thorin well enough to know that he’d never _like_ a gift such a that. He wouldn’t take it as mockery, not from him, but neither would he see it as anything but a reminder of how much less they all had in the Exile. Never mind that only the highest honour was intended, Thorin would take one look and see what he lacked: a crown, the Mountain, and the means to truly provide for his people. Anyone else questioning Thorin for displaying black and gold and everything they represented Dwalin was prepared to set straight with his fists, or his axes if need be, but when it was Thorin himself... 

Dwalin sighed and moved away from the gem-seller. As much as he liked to tease Thorin about how he couldn’t feasibly complain about whatever he chose to give him, he wanted to gift Thorin something he would actually enjoy receiving.

He would think of something else to give.


	2. Chapter 2

Thorin slid down from his mud-caked pony with a heavy sigh and held out its reins to the young apprentice waiting for them. He smiled and nodded at the lass gratefully and she almost snapped into a wide-eyed salute before remembering what she was supposed to be doing and taking the reins. 

(A _very_ young apprentice then. They seemed to be getting younger by the year.) 

Thorin shook his head and gave a cursory look at the dwarrows managing the wagons to see if they needed help or guidance with unloading them - which they did not - before trudging towards the inner village with the rest of the trade caravan. Or squelching, more accurately, since none of them had been completely dry for weeks.

Damn the spring rains. They had been supposed to be long over by now, but it seemed that no one had seen fit to inform the skies about that. Barely a week since they’d set out from Ered Luin the clouds had opened, and instead of the normal and reasonable rainfall that could’ve been expected they had been forced to face a veritable ocean of a downpour. And more importantly, so had the roads. The ancient dwarven East-West road had continued to hold against the rain as it had for Ages, and the markedly less ancient dwarven hides had held as well, though never without constant complaining, but the newer roads and paths were another matter altogether. Thorin had had no choice but to order them to turn around when their wagons had sunk knee-deep into the mud that had once been a track beaten into the clayey earth. They might have been able to push through if there had been some great need, but there was no sense in losing ponies to broken legs to get wares to the market that might end up not being there. A threat of a bad year usually had farmers tying up their purse-strings very tight, and the halfling innkeeper of the Green Dragon had gone on (and on and on) about how no one had business going onto the fields in this weather, and what a terrible thing it was in this time of the year when crops needed planting and you couldn’t very well plant them if the seeds would just float away.

Thorin hadn’t seen cause to argue with him.

 _Fucking_ spring rains.

Dís sidled up to him, clothes even more rain-soaked and mud-splattered than his, and rolled her eyes at him as ostentatiously as only she could.

_Quit your worrying, brother._

Thorin met her eyes steadily and fought down the urge to roll his eyes in return.

_Well **someone** has to._

They continued their wordless squabble until they came to their small smithy. Dwalin had agreed to look after Fíli and Kíli while Thorin and Dís were away, but the lads were nowhere to be seen now and Dwalin was hammering away on what seemed to be a heavy iron bar the local farmers used to pry rocks out of their fields with. He usually paid more attention to his surroundings, but it was obvious he hadn’t heard them approaching now. For once Fíli and Kíli’s absence wasn’t a cause for great concern; at this time they were probably with Balin, trying to wriggle out of their lessons yet learning in spite of themselves. (Kíli in particular insisted that the lessons were _the boringest thing the Maker had put on this Earth, no offence meant mister Balin_ and was always frustrated to no end when some knowledge stuck to his head against his express wishes to the contrary.) The lads would probably be equally thrilled and aghast to see their Mother and Uncle returned sooner than expected. As much as they missed them when they went away, Dwalin was notoriously lax with sweets whenever he was appointed as the main child-minder.

The now finished iron bar hissed as Dwalin dunked it into the slack tub to cool down, and Thorin whistled sharply to get his attention.

Dwalin wheeled around, raised the hammer in his hand like a weapon and promptly dropped it with a shocked and very undignified yelp when he found them standing there.

“You weren’t supposed to be back yet!”

“What did you _**do**_?!?” Thorin and Dís exclaimed as one.

Such an answer was one they were accustomed to hearing from Fíli and Kíli when they’d been left at the house by themselves, and it was _never_ a good sign.

“Nothing, nothing,” Dwalin placated them, doing a poor job of being convincing. “I just- Didn’t expect you back yet. Everything is fine. Balin has the lads.”

Thorin and Dís glanced at each other, but since nothing seemed to be on fire or collapsed in a pile of rubble they let the issue drop for now and explained to Dwalin about the poor weather and poorer roads while he doused the forge and closed it down. It was still afternoon and not exactly late enough to call it a day, but they could make up for the work tomorrow since there would be all three of them at the anvil again.

Dwalin was anxious like he never was all the way to their house. He didn’t say a word, but he kept stealing looks at Thorin with all the nervous lack of subtlety one might have expected from a sixty year old youngling. He was hiding something, and it was sure to be something much more substantial than Fíli and Kíli having had a cake dinner or two while he and Dís had been gone. Dwalin was up go something. 

And true enough, when they finally made it inside and were able to wrestle their feet out of their wet boots Dwalin took Thorin’s hand and pulled him after himself to their bedroom without any further ceremony. He didn’t even blink when Dís called after them about not needing any help _at all_ , she’d manage her wet clothes by herself, thanks _ever_ so much for _asking_. Thorin felt like she had something of a point, but still, he didn’t see much reason to argue about being so manhandled. He would’ve fancied a fire, a mug of ale and a pipe, sure, but it _had_ been a while since they’d last seen each other, and he’d rather missed Dwalin.

And it seemed like Dwalin had missed him too. They were barely through the door when he pulled Thorin against himself and started stripping off his wet clothes with practiced efficiency. 

“Close your eyes. I’ve got a surprise for you,” Dwalin murmured.

“You’re lucky I trust you,” Thorin said and did as he was bid. “Someone else might hold certain previous experiences against you.”

“I was only fifty and it was a very friendly lizard.”

Dwalin kissed Thorin’s neck and fastened something metal around his right wrist, and then around his left one.

“All done. You can look now.”

Thorin didn’t need to be asked twice. He opened his eyes and saw delicate silver scrollwork bracelets glinting around his wrists.

They were an ingenious piece of work. Not solid silver carved with the pattern, they looked as if Dwalin had fashioned the pattern alone into jewellery. They hadn’t taken up much metal, but they must have been a pain to make. 

A pair of bracelets.

 _As it should be_ , a rational part of him that wasn’t suddenly overwhelmed noted calmly. A single one was bad luck.

“I’m not good with words,” Dwalin rasped gruffly. “But I will have you. And I will give myself to you. For all of time. My King. If you accept.”

Thorin moaned low and rushed forward to kiss him.

“I accept, my One, and so be it,” he gasped against Dwalin’s mouth.

“So be it, my One,” Dwalin breathed and kissed him deep, and Thorin kissed him back, deeper.

Thorin fumbled hastily to undo Dwalin’s belt, suddenly very aware of his own nakedness, but to his surprise Dwalin pushed him back with a chagrined little grimace.

“There’s- another part of the gift still left for you and I. _Really_. Didn’t expect you back yet, so...”

Dwalin unbuckled his belt himself, pushed his trousers and undergarments down without ceremony, and kicked them swiftly off as he sat on the bed.

Small wonder Dwalin had rejected his advances. He had a new tattoo. 

A very new one, still red and slightly swollen in some places. A pair of bucks now guarded Dwalin’s crotch, and the inking led seamlessly from them to a wide band of geometric pattern inked around the base of his cock. Thorin winced in sympathy, but couldn’t quite hold back an immature titter at the sight of Dwalin’s shaved privates. Then he took a closer look and burst out into hysterical laughter.

Dwalin tried to object, but Thorin was beyond help. His knees gave way and he slid down to the floor, still laughing, tears streaming from his eyes.

“You,” Thorin gasped. “You-”

“You said-”

“Your dick,” Thorin wheezed. “Is _mine_.”

And so it was. Hidden among the knotwork tattooed around Dwalin’s cock was artistically rendered formal shorthand rune for Thorin’s name, plain as daylight when you knew what you were looking at. And around it on both sides stood the runes indicating possession. Or _ownership_.

“I _told_ you I could always make you a gift of my dick,” Dwalin said, expression stuck somewhere between a viciousness and attempted haughtiness. “And _you_ said you’d accept it.”

“So I did,” Thorin grinned, and burst into another fit of giggles.

Dwalin kicked him.

“Sorry,” Thorin said, still grinning from ear to ear. “It’s a beautiful gift, all of it is.”

There was barely a need to say it. Thorin liked wearing something around his wrists; before now he had favoured simple leather cuffs, or bracers if he was anticipating a fight. Silver would be a welcome change. 

And what came to his third gift... 

Well, it was hardly conventional, and less than half healed. But now that Thorin had gotten his amusement somewhat under control he couldn’t deny the fierce arousal surging through him at the sight of Dwalin’s bold new ink. And he just happened to be sitting on the floor where he had collapsed earlier, at Dwalin’s feet, looking up at him...

“The bracelets fit perfectly. They’re lovely,” Thorin murmured. “But I was thinking I should perhaps test this one as well...”

He snatched Dwalin’s cock-ring between his teeth and deliberately blew a gust of hot breath on the tip of his dick.

A piteous whimper escaped Dwalin’s mouth.

“ _Asshole_ ,” he groaned. “Stop it, I can’t get hard now, it’s not healed, _fuck_ , fuck you, you were supposed be gone for at least another month, you _bastard_ -”

Thorin bared his teeth briefly in a thoroughly evil grin before dropping the piercing from his mouth. He got up from the floor, sank his hands into Dwalin’s beard and pulled him into another long kiss.

“You’re mine,” Thorin whispered with heat in his voice, curling his fingers tighter around Dwalin’s beard.

“So I am,” Dwalin whispered back and grabbed Thorin’s arse with both hands. “Or rather, a very specific part of me is yours.”

“All of you,” Thorin insisted and grazed his teeth along Dwalin jaw. “Unless you’d rather risk parting with that very special part.”

“So cruel, and so greedy,” Dwalin huffed and bit briefly into Thorin’s side. “But not wrong.”

“Good,” Thorin breathed and pushed him backwards onto the bed and crawled on it right behind him. He had just enough self restraint to stay beside Dwalin instead of moving on top of him, though not enough to avoid leaving scratch-marks on his body as he took his mouth in a bruising kiss.

“Can’t get hard, eh?” Thorin said after a while, a little out of breath.

“Well, I _can_ , but it’s fucking murder. Sorry.”

“I can imagine. And never mind, I’ll live.” Thorin smiled wryly. "I'm sorry I ruined your surprise."

"You didn't," Dwalin said and pulled gently at Thorin's hair. "The weather did."

“Regardless. Also who’d you get to do that? Just so I know if it’s Fádli or Eldi who probably can’t look at me with a straight face from now on.”

“Neither. There was a Blacklock caravan from the south, you just missed them, and they had a master tattooist with them. I still hadn’t decided what to give you if I’m honest, but I saw her work and thought what the hell...”

“What the hell indeed. I bet Balin was delighted to hear why he was minding Fíli and Kíli _and_ the forge when you went under the needle though.”

“Balin has no sense of humour _or_ of romance.”

“Went _that_ well, huh?” Thorin snorted.

“Just about.”

“Óin’s seen the tattoo, hasn’t he?”

“What are you, Balin? Of course he's seen it,” Dwalin rolled his eyes. “I don’t want it to get infected and fall off. He gave me salve. And strict instructions. And he didn’t even laugh, unlike some.”

“Not to your face, he didn’t,” Thorin grinned. “Do you need...?”

“Aye, if you could.”

Dwalin handed him a jar of ointment that smelled strongly of herbs and moaned obscenely in relief as Thorin slathered the cooling substance thickly on the fresh tattoo.

When he was done Thorin took Dwalin’s hand and guided it to his own bare behind.

“I’m yours too, you know. Have been for a long time.”

“Sap,” Dwalin murmured, but didn’t withdraw his hand. “Keep talking like that and I’ll stop buying cakes and have a taste of you every time I crave for something sweet, save a fortune...”

“ _I_ am a sap, you say? _Really?_ Did you hear yourself just know?” Thorin laughed. “Not that I object, mind you. I’ll even mark the spots for you.”

“I think I know the spots well enough as it is,” Dwalin said and sucked Thorin’s earlobe briefly to his mouth, and Thorin twitched and groaned in response.

“I guess you do, yes.”

“Only guess? We’ll see about that,” Dwalin huffed and squeezed Thorin’s arse. “Do you want to get off?”

“Nah. I’m good.” Thorin said and stroked Dwalin’s cheek. “And I wouldn’t want to get you hard on accident either. Though when that’s healed-”

They were both startled by the sudden banging at the door.

“Dwalin, _where_ are all the blankets in this house?” Dís called through the door, voice brimming with annoyance.

“Oh, sorry,” Dwalin called back, sounding a little sheepish. “They’re here. We made a cave with the lads.”

“You- I’m coming in!”

“We aren’t wearing clothes,” Thorin warned out of duty.

“Who is?” Dís scoffed and marched in, naked save for a frayed towel bundled around her wet hair.

“Here,” Dwalin said and tossed a blanket haphazardly at her. “We’ll bring the others back later on.”

Dís wrapped the blanket around herself and turned to leave when Dwalin’s ointment-covered crotch caught her eye.

“Did he _bite_ you?” she laughed, throwing a pointed look at Thorin.

“I did not!” Thorin insisted indignantly. “It’s a tattoo.”

Dís snorted. Her gaze shifted from Thorin to Dwalin to Thorin again like she was looking for an acceptable explanation. Then her eyes zeroed in on the new bracelets Thorin was wearing.

“I see,” she said and smiled widely. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Thorin smiled back. “Come here.”

Dís stepped closer wearing a little skeptical expression, but Thorin merely fished another blanket from a pile of them and got up to wrap it around her.

“Give us a moment,” he said and pressed his forehead against hers.

“Only a moment? You must be getting old,” Dís teased.

“Behave,” Thorin chided mock-sternly. “Go eat Dwalin’s sweets, he said he doesn’t need them anymore.”

“HEY! Wait just a-”

“As you command, my King,” Dís said solemnly, cutting off Dwalin’s outraged protest. “You’d better take two moments in that case.”

She turned and left the room with a cheerful wink at Dwalin and just missed him picking up a pillow and throwing it at Thorin.

“See if I ever say anything nice about you again,” Dwalin grumbled.

“To be a warrior is to be ready to make a sacrifice,” Thorin quoted and crawled back up to Dwalin’s side. 

“Aye, but one has to draw the line _somewhere_.”

“Cake is where your line is?”

“You’d better believe that's where it is,” Dwalin said. “You were saying? About when I’m healed?”

“I was saying,” Thorin growled, nuzzling against Dwalin’s neck. ”That when you’re healed I’m going to suck you until you beg for mercy and then I’m going to have you fuck me so hard I won’t feel anything else for _days_. And that’s just the _start_.”

Dwalin moaned and slid his hand between Thorin’s legs.

“My evil plan,” he breathed. “It worked.”

“That was your plan?”

"Mmm-h."

“And here I suspected you let someone stick needles into your cock because you knew it’d make me laugh,” Thorin said, much more serious now.

Dwalin sobered up in an instant.

“That too,” he admitted, leaning forward to nudge his forehead against Thorin’s. “And it worked as well. And I really like the way it looks.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Thorin mumbled.

“Be you,” Dwalin said without a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Just be you.”

They stayed like that, held in each others’ arms in a lax embrace, until the smell of food started wafting from the kitchen.

“We should go help with the dinner,” Thorin murmured.

“Aye. We should,” Dwalin replied drowsily and buried his nose into Thorin’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DWALIN WOULD!!! 
> 
> Also I'd like to thank Saetha for telling me about the way tattoos heal. (Which I then interpreted as I saw fit bc what does anyone know about genital tattoos among dwarves, Tolkien didn't cover this, we're on our own.)


End file.
